Part 5
Next day I grab the boss of the hostess in his collar and confess my
annoyance. With much understanding he listens to me and also organizes
that I get a normal bungalow. Again everything seems to be normal. Now
I can sit on my own veranda enjoying the green view. Now and again a
bird with a scarlet breast and a black back with a wonderful sound
sits in the African tree.
Just met two ladies from Groningen: Margaret and Janca. Last night we
were sitting outside until the early hours. Supported by cockroach
sounds we enjoy a drink while exchanging travelling stories. Shared
our feelings about the travel-organisation and we decide not to participate
in all those expensive excursions. They readily accept my
invitation to join me on a trip round Southern Gambia.
"Wear something that may get dirty" I advise them "and bring along a
bottle of water". After thorough consideration: slippers and hiking
shoes, a skirt or trousers, we hit the road. First to the central
taxi-stand in Serrekunda. After full negotiations we have to change
our route. From our first planned stop there is no transportation
possible to the south. In the stuffed bus between the Gambians we tear
down the red dusty road. This is real Africa. In "the middle of nowhere"
the driver suddenly applies the brake. A golden discovery. A
passenger has lost a car window.
In a small village on our way we get out. A half-way stop. Accompanied
by a large group of children we walk through the sandy small streets.
Women sitting together plaiting hair. Typical Sunday's work. A complete
hairdo will take you at least five hours. After a warm cola from
the only fridge of the village we confiscated the next bush-taxi which
passes by. There are no seats left for four women who also want to
join.
In Gunjur, where we have to change in order to arrive in the far south
end, it is very crowded indeed. The whole little town is disordered.
At the central village square we see huge crowds of people and between
the heads we discover police and army. I manage peeping to the other
side of the square through a sidestreet. When I stand at the corner of
the street a huge caravan of fourwheeldrive-cars speed into town leaving
much dust. Highly placed military and a camera team. In the twentieth
car we see a tall man in African uniform waving to the crowd.
The shouting increases: the president. Then still more dust and cars
which end the row with a trailer equipped with an automatic gun. Better
hide my camera my inner voice told me. The crowd sets off to the
square and I am pushed forwards. Suddenly somebody says: "Sit down"
and before I realize I am seated again on the grandstand, four rows
behind the president. Dancers start their performance. A well-known
artist sings a song about the Gambia and a representative of the local
committee gives a speech. This is theatre and I sit on the front row.
After all highly placed persons have withdrawn in the Mosque to pray I
start looking for Margaret & Janca. Nowhere to be found. I decided to
investigate for milksops do not disappear just like that in black
Africa. A boy arrives with a note in his hand who also tells me that
they have been looking for me and that Margaret has fallen and has
hurt her knee.
They have left with the bush-taxi to the beach which is
situated three kilometres further down. I follow. Asking again and yes
they have been spotted. "You are looking for two ladies? Properly
dressed? And somebody making photos?" That must be them. At a distance
very clear to recognize. What a relief to meet again. They have been
very worried.
Via Birkama and three bush-taxis heading again towards the hotel. They
experienced the day of their lives. An excursion to South Gambia for
an amount of 30 Dalasi while the same trip organised will cost at
least 495 Dalasi. As extra we even met the president.
Yesterday I received two letters. One with the "important message"
about my luggage. The other I only have looked at it quickly. After
some research it seems that not the brother has called but Yahya himself.
Hell, he has turned up and is at his brother's. I do not have to
go to Fatoto in East Gambia anymore to look for him. Will eveything
end up well?
In the evening at 21.30: there it is my backpack. After four days. No
suspicious odours can be smelled. How long can a vacuum packed salty
herring still be good by a temperature of 35 degrees? Unpack fast and
check everything. Yet I throw away the herring but the cheese is still
in good shape, the knitting pins, the small balls of wool, the instruction
books, liquorice, rolling tobacco and cigarette papers,
clothes, the other presents, everything is still there. Reason to call
the telephone number on the note:
'Yahya?'
'Yes' the happy acknowledgment sounds.
'Liesbet where are you?'
be continued
More information:
Map of Africa and more information:
Map of Gambia and more information:
More travelstories from Africa:
An tour through West Africa
On the motor from north to south
Go back to Liesbet's Atelier
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